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BY 



ELSIE L. GILMORE 



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COPYRIGHT 1918 
BY 

ELSIE L. GILMORE 



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AN' HERE'S TO THE SOLDIER— 

AN' HERE'S TO THE SAILOR — 

AN' HERE'S TO THE 

.••JOLLY MARINE" 



NOV 16 Ibio 
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A valiant army, khaki-clad, in lands be- 
yond the sea ! 

Above its ranks Old Glory floats, a foe to 
tyranny ; 

Ne'er has it stood for cause unjust, for 
deeds or works untrue, 

Our Nation's flag, our Stars and Stripes, 
our own Red, White and Blue. 

Amidst the shriek of bursting shell it 

proudly waves on high; 
We see our boys beneath its folds who fight 

for liberty; 
Theirs be the part to do or die, to face the 

storm and rack, 
And ours to wait and work and pray until 

that Flag comes back. 

O Spirit of Columbia, be with our Flag we 

pray, 
And keep it safe and keep it clean above 

our boys today; 
And as it floats in majesty, God grant they 

take a pride 
In fighting for that same old Flag for 

which their fathers died. 



O magic stripes of red and white ! O field 

of starry blue ! 
The hopes — the dreams of all mankind are 

centered now in you ; 
In Liberty's great name float on — float on 

and never cease 
Until our blood stained world is bathed in 

universal peace. 

And when the victory is won, through eyes 
suffused w T ith tears, 

We'll see our boys come marching home 
amid tumultuous cheers ; 

They'll bring Old Glory back again, un- 
sullied, clean and true, 

Our Nation's Flag, our Stars and Stripes, 
our own Red White and Blue. 



J&nbbit^OQ 



Laddie-Boy, with your eyes of blue, 
Why do you go — 

Is it impulse or love of your flag? 

I want to know. 
In the blue? eyes came a tiny flame 

As he answered me : 

1 go to conquer that living curse, 

"Autocracy." 

Laddie-Boy, but you are so young; 
Why do you go? 

Others stronger and older than you 

Should face the foe. 
Again in the blue eyes came the flame 

As he answered me, 

1 can only hear that world-wide call, 

"Democracy." 

And so I smiled in his big blue eyes 

And bade him go ; 
Tho' clearer vision I could not catch, 

My heart ached so; 
But I sent my Laddie-Boy away 

Far over the sea, 
In the name of that alluring cause, 

"Humanity." 



<*%!* 



The shadows are stealing softly through- 
out the darkened room, 

While the heavy rain descending intensifies 
the gloom, 

And I sit alone with memory here in the 
dim firelight 

And think of the thousands of mothers all 
over the world tonight. 

It's great to be one of these mothers, tho' 

hearts are heavy with pain, 
When we think that some who go "out 

there" may not return again; 
But we reared these boys to be manly and 

bravely stand for the right, 
We thousands of anxious mothers all over 

the world tonight 

They are only doing their duty, the duty 

that must be done, 
That this war for the "rights of nations'* 

may be successfully won; 
But — I sit alone with memory — alone in 

the dim firelight, 
And think of the thousands of mothers all 

over the world tonight 



xt\\ % (Eolmrg 



You say he's gone with the colors,. 

That kid I used to know; 
You mean that little freckled chap, 

Has gone to face the foe? 
It seems to me but yesterday, 

When full of hope and charm, 
I saw him starting out to play, 

His football 'neath his arm. 

You say he's gone with the colors, 

To sail across the seas? 
When yesterday he spent his time 

In climbing apple trees ; 
It can't be that he's old enough 

To face such misery, 
To fight for the Stars and Stripes and 
France, 

The whole wide world and me. 

You say that he's almost twenty, 

And ne'er plays "hooky" more, 
And looks with clear eyes unafraid 

To where the cannons roar; 
That a world's work he is doing 

Whate'er the outcome be, 
And that he sails away "out there," 

To crush autocracy? 

It makes an old chap feel ashamed, 

To stay at home in peace, 
When that kid has joined the colors 

To help make warfare cease ; 
But God alone knows how I wish, 

Although my hair is gray, 
That I could go with the colors 

And be that kid today. 



10 



^ Wtbxdt 



He is not really dead ! That boy who gave 

his life to free a world from tyranny; 
Ne'er has he been so much alive as now, 

since men have called him dead. 
His grave is not upon the Flanders field, 

nor on the war-scarred soil 
Of beauteous, passionate France, nor in 

the oceans' depths; 
Neither in sunny Italy, nor yet in Bagdad 

of the far off East, 
Nor on the misty, lonely, rock-bound Scot- 
tish shore. 
No single grave is his because the whole 

wide earth is now his sacred resting 

place. 
Wherever truth shall reign, and liberty 

shall live; 
Wherever might is not the right; where- 

ever womanhood is held in reverence, 
And childhood has its happy, sunny hours 

of play, 
There shall be his grave ! 
And yet — and yet — 
Methinks the whole wide earth is quite too 

small for such a grave ! 



(Istlfsmrans 



Behold ! A garden called Gethsemane ; 
Behold! A God-Man kneeling lonely there 
While offering up with breaking heart the 

prayer: 
"If possible, let this cup pass from me." 

And so adown the ages, yeaf by year, 
Each man has had his own Gethsemane, 
Where human hearts in human misery 
Cry out for help in hours of pain and fear. 

The whole wide world in deepest agony 
Is kneeling now within Gethsemane. 



12 



priceless 



There are pictures of all descriptions in 
the great house on the hill ; 

Vandyke and Rubens and Rembrandt, 
Titian and Raphael ; 

There are statues, bronzes and carvings, 
and eastern tapestries, 

With hundreds of fine and costly things 
from far across the seas. 

But up in the private quarters of the multi- 
millionaire, 

On a little rosewood table, is a treasure 
still more rare 

That the father and mother gaze at with 
loving, tear-dimmed eye — 

This priceless and wonderful keepsake 
that money could not buy ; 

For the gift so highly cherished in an age 
of stress and storm 

Is only a little snapshot of a boy in uni- 
form. 



W(\ t Itari of Tj^tntt 

Her anchors are weighed, her moorings 

are slipped and her sails set fearlessly 
As our Ship of State plows bravely along 

through the great, gray, boundless sea ; 
You ask for what port she is heading, that 

pillage and murder may cease? 
She's one destination— one only — the 

"Port of Permanent Peace." 

At the helm is a dauntless pilot, as our 

ship plows the stormy sea. 
Who never will lower his colors, though 

threatened with mutiny; 
Who will never turn back till the whole 

wide world from war is given release, 
And the only haven he makes for is the 

"Port of Permanent Peace." 

Rich cargo that old ship is bearing; our 

hopes and our fears and our boys, 
As she sails undaunted by jeer and taunt 

or pacifist's auguries ; 
We know she will never make anchor, we 

know that her speed will increase 
Till she reaches the haven she's seeking, 

the "Port of Permanent Peace." 



At her prow is the emblem of freedom, on 

her pennants "Democracy," 
As she hurries along through the storm 

and stress to rescue "Humanity;" 
From bondage, from death and starvation 

she earnestly seeks its release, 
While she glimpses ahead through the 

darkness, the "Port of Permanent 

Peace." 

And floating from mast and from halyard, 

the stars and the stripes unfurled, 
Are shouting aloud a message of cheer to 

a war-cursed, blood-stained world ; 
And ne'er will our ship strike her colors, 

and never her vigilance cease, 
Till she reaches the haven she's bound for, 

the "Port of Permanent Peace." 



15 



3% jfefftte Iflag 

The house is low, and old, and gray, 

Of unpretentious mien ; 
Within — without — no trace of wealth 

May anywhere be seen; 
And yet it holds a sacred place 

Amid the city's roar, 
For out in front a service flag 

Hangs mutely at the door. 

The old gray house has ne'er known fame, 

King Gold has passed it by; 
And yet that family heard the call 

Of World-Democracy; 
They knew the proud cause they espoused 

Was well worth fighting for, 
So out in front a service flag 

Hangs mutely at the door. 

Two stars upon a field of white, 

Two boys gone forth to war; 
And this is what the service flag 

Is mutely standing for. 



16 



«% Worn Calls 



His mother called to him 

Because the dusky shades were gathering; 

And so to home and warmth and cheer and 

light 
He went from out the shadows of the night 
Because his mother called. 

His country called to him 
Because the clouds of war were gathering; 
And so away from home and ease and light 
He marched into the deep, war ridden 

night 
Because his country called. 



^ JRsgret 



There'll be no boys at our house any 
more! 

For when the war is over and the cannons 
cease to roar, 

When Peace has spread her mantle over 
mountain plain and glen, 

Our boys who went away as boys are com- 
ing back as men. 



^mt Popge 



O brave young boys with laughing eyes, 

why do you want to go — 
Why do you seek a foreign land to face a 

ruthless foe- 
Why not remain in peace until the foe 

knocks at our door? 
That's time enough, and you are young to 

hear the cannons' roar. 

These brave young boys, with hearts of 
gold, reply in accents clear: 

"Belgium and France! Do we e'er want 
such warfare fought out here? 

So in the name of womanhood and child- 
hood's hour of play, 

We look across gray ocean's waste and sail 
for France today." 

Think of the blood, the slaughter, boys, 

and fever's wasting pain; 
The sights, the sounds, the trenches vile; 

O, must we plead in vain ? 
These brave young boys, in ringing tones, 

say: "No, we cannot stay; 
Our vision's clear — we do our part — and 

sail for France today." 



18 



"God bless you then, and so God speed" 

we said in last farewell, 
And bade them go to foreign lands, to 

death or living hell; 
Those brave young boys with strong brave 

souls replied in unity: 
"For God — for Home — and all the 

world — we sail for France today." 



They met on the streets of the city one day, 

a queerly assorted pair, 
And the woman of fashion clasped the 

hand of the woman of toil and care ; 
Heart spoke to heart and soul to soul in 

the midst of the clatter and din, 
For the link that bound them together for 

aye was a tiny service pin. 



The sun is a splotch of scarlet in a sky of 

copper gray; 
The rivers are running crimson throughout 

the world today ; 
And flaming lilies are blooming, and hill 

and valley are red, 
While half of our world lies a-weeping and 

half of our world lies dead. 

White roses are turning carmine, white 

poppies are blazing all, 
And over each plain and forest is settling 

a lurid pall; 
The stars are stars of vermilion and the 

moon is a moon blood red, 
While half of our world lies a-weeping and 

half of our world lies dead. 

Both queen and peasant are praying in 
agony deep and sore; 

While the blessed Christ in anguish is cru- 
cified o'er and o'er; 

And even the cross uplifted is bathed in a 
shroud of red, 

While half of our w T orld lies a-weeping and 
half of our world lies dead. 






20 



%\\t %zmt 



Do you recall those little chaps, the ones 

we used to know, 
Who played at being soldier boy not very 

long ago? 
Around the block they went in file with 

hip-and hip-hoo-ray, 
And fought their country's battles well 

throughout the summer day; 
But when the sun was sinking low their 

flag they proudly furled 
And closed their eyes in peaceful sleep 

upon a peaceful w r orld. 

Ah me, it seems but yesterday ! That boy- 
ish, warlike play 

Has now become through fate's decree a 
grim reality; 

For when their country needed help they 
each one heard the call 

And marched away beneath that flag what- 
ever might befall; 

With childish games all laid aside, they 
now by war's stern chance 

Are fighting underneath that flag some- 
where — somewhere in France. 



21 



)nx jitagan 



Freedom For All Forever — Let this our 

slogan be, 
Freedom For All Forever, from sea to 

boundless sea. 

In this war, for the rights of the nations, 

amidst the thunder of guns, 
While the Sons of Freedom are beating 

back the waves of the gray-clad Huns; 
When the shot and the shell are flying and 

the rivers are running red, 
And No Man's Land and the trenches are 

filled with the dying and dead; 
As the world in anguish labors as we see 

no gleam of light, 
And we ask if God has hidden his face, so 

dark is the long, long night; 
While we cry aloud in our sorrow and 

direst misery, 
And grope in the dark and ask ourselves 

why such dread things should be ; 
Lo! E'en in the midst of the tumult we 

hear the clarion call 
Which settles our doubts forever and an- 
swers us once for all : 

Freedom For All Forever — Let this our 

slogan be — 
Freedom For All Forever — from sea to 

boundless sea. 



$ixn's u %mt JBsssT 

Jim wuz my "bunkie," my chum, you see; 
We enlisted together, him an' me, 
To fight in France for democracy; 
Now Jim's "Gone West." 

We used to wonder how it would be, 
An' talked it over, just him an' me ; 
We wuz never much afraid, you see ; 
Now Jim's "Gone West." 

We alius said we would make no fuss, 
If the time ever come when Fritz got us; 
An' we thought it wuz better to pray than 
cuss ; 

Now Jim's "Gone West." 

For one gray day, with a Yankee yell, 

An' bayonets drawn, we went pell-mell 

Clean over the top in the face of hell, 

An' Jim went "West." 

I didn't dast stop by my "bunkie-lad," 
The best old chum a man ever had, 
But, believe me, life ain't awful glad 
Since Jim's "Gone West." 



23 



^ximtt 



The house is very lonely and the skies are 

darkly gray, 
And all the world is upside down since the 

boys went away; 
The very chairs and tables, the pictures 

and the books 
And even all the curtains have unfamiliar 

looks ; 
The living room is empty and everything's 

so neat, 
There are no traces anywhere of muddy, 

restless feet; 
There are no sounds of whistling within 

a single room, 
No scuffling and no ragtime to break the 

heavy gloom 
Which settles, settles everywhere and 

deepens day by day, 
And all the world is upside down since the 

boys went away. 
Of course, 'twas right for them to go and 

heed their country's call, 
They had to do their part, you know, 

whatever may befall; 
But the silences are deadly and things look 

darkly gray, 
And all the world is upside down since 

the boys went away. 



24 



tEftwi ©rag^fes 



A young boy died today ! 

Amidst the cannons' roar and shriek of 

hurtling shell, 
Beneath the Stars and Stripes, "Some- 
where in France" he fell; 
Across the sea the message flashed: Ah! 

what a tragedy, 
That one so young should die in France 
today. 

An old man died today ! 

Four score and ten was what the daily 

paper said; 
Without a home or friend, no place to 
lay his head; 
Surfeited with life, an emblem of decay 
A man unloved, unwept, has died today. 

Which would you call the greater tragedy, 
The boy who passed in the glow of youth 
Or the man in rank decay? 



13 



^tttimgtilaMe 



I wanta' be a soldier boy an' wear a khaki 

suit, 
An' have a knapsack on my back an' have 

a gun to shoot, 
An' mebbe have a horse to ride or even 

drive a mule; 
But No 1 I gotta stay at home, I gotta go 

to school. 

Gee Whiz ! I wanta go to war 
Where all the other fellers are. 

I wanta go across the sea to fight the 

Kaiser Bill, 
An' mebbe be a corporal or else a general; 
I wanta' wave the stars and stripes out on 

the firin' line, 
Or mebbe sink a sub-marine, now wouldn't 

that be fine ? 
I wanta' march straight to Berlin an' all 

them Germans fool, 
But No ! I gotta stay at home, I gotta go 

to school. 

Gee Whiz ! I wanta go to war 
Where all the other fellers are. 

But if I talk like this at home, the folks 
all laugh an' say : 

" You' re very young to fight you know, 
you're only twelve today; 

You've gotta keep right here with us obey- 
in' every rule;" 

An' so I gotta stay at home, I gotta go to 
school. 

Gee Whiz ! I wanta go to war 
Where all the other fellers are. 



26 



ttfy? 



Daddy-My-Dear, what did you do in 

that time so long ago, 
When the Great Big War was fought and 

won — before I was born, you know? 
The father looked in the deep brown eyes 

and smiled at the child's bequest: 
"I was only a private, little son, but I tried 

to do my best. 

1 gladly obeyed all orders and kept clean 

and strong, you see. 
For the sake of a brown-eyed kiddie who 

might one day come to me ; 
And down in the trenches and over the top 

I'm sure I stood the test, 
For tho' I was only a private I tried to do 

my best." 

And what did you do, O Daddy-My-Dear, 

in that time so long ago 
When the Great Big War was fought and 

won — before I was born, you know? 
The father looked in the clear blue eyes, 

then turned away and sighed, 
For he could not stand that childish gaze, 

and in lowered voice replied: 
"I sat before a mahogany desk all day in 

a swivel chair 
And kept as far away as I could from dan- 
ger and death and care ; 
1 sought the very easiest place away from 

the stress and storm ; 
For I was a slacker, little chap — a slacker 

in uniform." 



27 



)m ^txtttz 



O Heroes of the misty past, what look ye 

for to see? 
The heroes of the present age are coming 

now to thee. 

Undaunted valiant patriots, with pride 

their spirits teem; 
They meet the test and bravely face the 

sacrifice supreme. 

For them no home, no wife, no child 

adown the coming years, 
But in their stead a martyrs' crown bathed 

in a nation's tears. 

O heroes of the misty past, what look ye 

for to see? 
The heroes of the present age are coming 

now to thee ; 
From battle front and training camp and 

from the depths of sea 
They come undaunted to thy side; they 

face thee worthily. 



28 



Personal 



Isn't it strange of the thousands of boys 

WhoVe gone away "out there," 
Followed by thousands of hopes and fears 

And followed by ceaseless prayer, 
Amid the hosts who said: U I will go 

Wherever my country calls," 
I should see alone one little boy 

In his faded overalls? 

Isn't it strange, in all these years, 

He has never "grown up" to me, 
Even after he volunteered 

For the sake of humanity; 
And that "out there" on the battle front 

Where suffering loudest calls, 
I should see alone one little boy 

In his faded overalls? 

Isn't it strange, all over the world 

Mothers are just the same? 
We wait at home and think of the one 

Who may not return again, 
And the picture that comes to all of us 

From sacred mem'ry's halls 
Is not a man in a khaki suit, 

But a boy in overalls. 



29 



He used to whistle all the time before he 
went away, 

Perchance 'twas ragtime, often hymns, or 
else America; 

And sometimes it was all mixed up, a med- 
ley queer, you know, 

Of Yankee Doodle, Dixie Land or strains 
of Old Black Joe ; 

But most of all he seemed to love that stir- 
ring martial air, 

Of "Onward Christian Soldiers, Marching 
As To War." 

And tho' he's gone and life is sad, and 
days are dark and drear, 

I like to think of all the tunes he used to 
whistle here ; 

And listening I close my eyes and try to 
think perchance 

That somewhere he is whistling still upon 
the fields of France; 

And then it seems to me I hear that stir- 
ring martial air 

Of "Onward Christian Soldiers, Marching 
As To War." 






30 



"Life is not measured by a span of years" 

The sages say; 
So if he dies despite our prayers and tears 

In France today, 
Still has he lived a longer life than he, 

Three score and ten, 
Who has not sacrificed nor helped to free 

His fellow men. 



31 



ffyfob (But! 



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*ww*-»rati|nT** ch. 



